


Nobody thinks what I think

by SmolSpideyBoi



Series: Ollie's angst collection [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is Not Okay (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Episode: s10e22 The Prisoner, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Suicide, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolSpideyBoi/pseuds/SmolSpideyBoi
Summary: "It should be you up there, not her."The teardrops are falling harder now, salty and hot enough to burn his eyes. He knows Dean won't be back for hours, if he comes back at all.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Ollie's angst collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706029
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	Nobody thinks what I think

**Author's Note:**

> A re-write of S10E22 but with as much whump and angstiness I could squeeze into 844 words. Beta'd by Chloe.

It's all his fault. 

Every single one of their deaths, it's his fault. Their blood is on his hands, in his eyes, in his throat, staining his soul. And now Charlie is gone, dead because of him. Dean can't even stand to look at him, and when he does all Sam can see is hate.

_"It should be you up there, not her."_

The teardrops are falling harder now, salty and hot enough to burn his eyes. He knows Dean won't be back for hours, if he comes back at all. Sam chose now for a reason, he didn't want to be stopped. He didn't want to see Dean not trying to stop him. Because if anyone deserved to die, it was Sam. He was always the problem, and death was the only cure.

He cuffs his sleeves until just below the elbow, and drags the tip of the angel blade over the soft skin of his forearm. He watches the thin line of crimson become a weeping red stream trickling down to the ground. Sam fumbles his phone out and calls Cas, the world now blurry from something other than tears. Cas picks up on the third ring, "Sam-" Cas begins and he cuts him off. "It's not your fault, Cas. It's not your fault, and it's not Dean's. It's mine. It's all been my fault, but I'm setting things right now Cas. I'm so sorry, tell him I'm sorry, that I'm sorry for it all. I love you Cas, and tell Dean that I love him." Sam can feel everything welling up inside him, like a dam _(like when Lucifer was inside him, beating him down and tearing him apart)_ "Sam, I don't understand? What are you talking about? What's going on Sam?" Sam smiles softly, even though he knows that he can't see it, won't see it. "It's nothing, Cas. Don't worry about me." Sam ends the call with a finality, tossing the phone far up the bed forwards the pillows. He draws in a shallow breath and slides the blade several more times across his arm and wrist. He stares in a detached fascination at the pooling blood underneath his arm. He passes the angle blade to his other hand, smearing blood on the otherwise pristine silver. The first cut on his left wrist is considerably deeper than the other five on his right. Sam watches the ever growing crimson pool get bigger and bigger until his line of vision grows dimmer and dimmer. His eyes roll into the back of his head, and Sam's world goes dark for the last time. The picture frame that he was holding lies silently on the cold cement floor, the smiling faces in it haunting as it's swallowed up by blood.

Dean ignores the first five calls from Cas, hoping that he'd catch the hint. On the sixth call Dean finally picks up. "What!" He snaps, clenching the phone hard enough to leave cracks. "Dean," Cas's gruff voice pours through the speaker "It's Sam. Something's wrong, he called me to say that he's sorry and to tell you that he's going to make things right. He sounded, wrong, Dean."

Dean isn't prepared for the sea of panic the makes his heart thunder in his ears. He puts enough pressure on the gas pedal to make Baby groan, and doesn't even give a fuck.

The bunker is dead silent when he gets there. "Sam?" He calls out at first, but then it's desperate please of "Sammy?" And "Sam? Answer me goddamnit!" He's only a few steps away from Sam's door when he notices that it's already cracked open. He uses one hand to push the door open all while bringing up his gun. His breath hitches in his throat and the gun falls down as Dean's knees buckle. Dean reaches out for the cold corpse of his little brother. "Sammy what did you do." He whispers hoarsely. "No no no Sam. It's not real, it can't be. No no no, I can't lose you." He sobs, cradling Sam's head in his arms. "I'm so sorry Sammy. I'm so fucking sorry." He just sits there, rocking Sam's dead body in his arms, tears trickling down his cheeks and chin. Gently brushing Sam's hair back, Dean presses a light kiss to his forehead, mumbling apologies into the already cold flesh of Sam. 

It might as well be an eternity when Cas finds them. Dean's so numb and broken that he doesn't even try to fight Cas when Cas pries Sam from his arms. Dean doesn't even respond to Cas pulling him into a hug. All he can think about is his brother's lifeless body clutched in his arms, the blood staining the floor.

Because Sam is dead, and he won't be coming back. Because his little brother committed suicide, and Dean told him that he had wished that it was him, not Charlie on the pyre. Because it was all Dean's fault, then again, when wasn't it.

Because Sam was gone, and Dean had nobody to blame but himself.


End file.
